


Overslept

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard, M/M, but overall this probably leans more towards M I'm just safety tagging, don't make your angel late for lunch, references to previous sexual acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: He still gets no answer, but sees the flicker of light from underneath Aziraphale's bedroom door.  He knocks, at least as a formality, before pushing the door open.Hazel eyes peer up at him over the rim of gunmetal frames.  Eyes that hold a power and a strength that is so often forgotten under all of that softness.  Crowley's never forgotten.  Never in six thousand years, and especially not now.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 113





	Overslept

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miele_Petite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miele_Petite/gifts).



> So the lovely and wonderful and extremely talented Miele_Petite posted [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205278) in the discord server today and my words ran away with me xD

Crowley pointedly ignores the locked door of the bookshop, it never stays locked for him anyway.He's late, overslept, missed their lunch reservation.

The message Aziraphale left on the machine was curt and to the point, which means he's annoyed at best and incensed at most.Six thousand years is a lot of time to learn how to read one's face, but it's a bit more difficult over the phone.

"Aziraphale, you here?" Crowley calls to the shop, dark in the sinking twilight and oddly and creepily quiet.Getting no answer, he makes his way among the stacks, searching for the angel he knows is here. 

He makes his way up the spiral stairs, finds the door to Aziraphale's rarely-used flat standing ajar."Aziraphale, I'm sorry I missed lunch, was tireder than I thought," he calls out as he pushes the door open, making his way through the kitchenette to the living space, still eerie in their silence and darkness.

He still gets no answer, but sees the flicker of light from underneath Aziraphale's bedroom door.He knocks, at least as a formality, before pushing the door open.

Hazel eyes peer up at him over the rim of gunmetal frames.Eyes that hold a power and a strength that is so often forgotten under all of that softness.Crowley's never forgotten.Never in six thousand years, and especially not now. 

Not when some nights find him pinned to the bookshelves. Powerless under a strongly whispered 'be quiet, be still' in his ear as Aziraphale chases his pleasure in him. As Aziraphale drops words like "good" and "beautiful" and "love" from his lips into the skin at the back of Crowley's neck.

Not when some days find him under the bookshop til counter, Aziraphale's cock down his throat while customers mill about the store.On his knees in supplication at the merest suggestion from those steely eyes, Aziraphale unaffected save for a twitch of his thigh or a tap of his foot.

Not when, so many times in between, find them both tangled up in sheets and sweat and love, sated and breathing heavily, content to exist in each other's space and lives in ways they had never dreamed of.

And now, walking into Aziraphale's bedroom, seeing this vision of an angel, Crowley knows he's done for. 

Aziraphale is laid out on his bed, in nothing but his grey jumper and sock garters, cock at full attention.He's got those blasted reading glasses on, scrutinizing Crowley over the rims.The look sends a shock straight to Crowley's core, has him hard and wanting before he even knows what hit him.

Aziraphale lays his book to the side, props his head up on one wrist and looks Crowley up and down."So, you missed our reservation, darling."

"Yes," Crowley says, swallowing thickly, "I'm sorry, overslept."

"Is that all?" Aziraphale asks, a bit of a lilt to his voice."I suppose we could always go for dinner.You're looking a bit hungry yourself."

Crowley braces one hand against a bookshelf, knees threatening to give out.He nods, hoping Aziraphale means what he thinks he means.

"Well, don't just stand there darling, if you want to make it up to me-" Aziraphale licks his lips "- I can think of _several_ ways to go about it."

Crowley crosses the floor in a few quick steps, crashing into Aziraphale like a wave on the shore - a tangle of lips and teeth and limbs and ecstasy.

They're late for lunch the next day, too.Although for much more enjoyable reasons.


End file.
